


I Wish I Was Mad

by kittensmctavish



Category: Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Champagne, I'm Bad At Tagging, In the Heights References, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 07:00:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15334413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittensmctavish/pseuds/kittensmctavish
Summary: …I’m just too late.(Or: the song “Champagne” from “In the Heights”, Standrew-ified.)





	I Wish I Was Mad

**Author's Note:**

> So I’m super late to the “Steven moving to New York sad Standrew” fics but seriously, it took me until THIS AFTERNOON to realize that “Champagne” (probably the best love song Lin-Manuel Miranda has ever written, don’t at me) is so very Standrew it’s ridiculous. I had this epiphany at work and mentally scolded myself for being a dumbass.
> 
> (Please go listen to “Champagne” after reading this fic. It’s better than this fic.)

Steven runs the cleaning cloth over his (now empty) desk for the…tenth time? Partly to ensure things are very clean. Partly out of…not wanting to leave just yet.

He looks around the office. It’s late. Everyone else is gone. He’s just…prolonging the inevitable. Before tomorrow. Stupid, really. He should be sleeping. His flight is early.

Steven looks back at his desk. It still feels like his, despite every trace of him wiped clean or stuffed into the nearby box.  He glances over at Adam’s desk, a few chairs down. Past that, Andrew’s. Something in his heart pangs.

He’s going to miss him…them.

The click of a door opening echoes in the empty office, and Steven turns to see who it is.

Andrew.

“Hey.” Andrew smiles, hands behind his back. There’s…something off about it. Something awkward.

“Hey,” Steven greets back, only looking away to toss the cleaning cloth in a nearby bin. “What are you doing here?”

“I, um…” Andrew shifts. “I got you a present.” Ah. He must be hiding it behind his back; that explains the awkward stance. “Had to go downtown to pick it up, and…” And that would explain his absence from the farewell party the office threw for him. Andrew pauses, glancing down. He runs his tongue absent-mindedly over his lips before looking back up at Steven. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Um…cleaning? Packing?” Steven gestures at the full boxes. Andrew should know his pain; the man’s been moving himself (albeit, apartments within the general area, but the point remains).

“Wrong.”

“…no, I’m not?” Steven laughs. “I think I know my night better than you do.”

“Nope. We’ve got a date.” Andrew smirks.

“…okay?” Steven can’t help but laugh, watching Andrew’s arms move from behind his back to reveal…something wrapped in white.

“Before you board that plane…” Andrew says as he sets the “present” down on Steven’s desk in front of him, the white paper crinkling as Andrew folds it down. “…I owe you a drink.”

It’s a bottle of champagne. It looks…familiar…

“…no way,” Steven says, picking it up to look at the label.

“Yes way,” Andrew laughs and Steven can only imagine what his face must look like to Andrew as he gapes over the bottle of (very expensive) cold champagne.

“The bottle’s all sweaty and…” Steven adjusts his grip on the bottle as he wipes the condensation from the bottle on to the leg of his jeans. His eyes are still on the champagne. He remembers the first time he’d tasted this—filming a “Worth It” episode, he can’t remember which one or if it even made the episode. Steven’s not a drinker, and he doesn’t care for most alcohol, but he’d loved this. He looks up at Andrew. “You went and got this?” Andrew nods, his smile small and bashful.

“Pop the champagne,” Andrew says. Steven looks back down at it.

“I don’t…I think all the glasses are locked up,” Steven babbles, “and I don’t have my coffee mugs, those went home earlier in the week—”

“Tonight,” Andrew cuts him off with a hand brushing over the label and Steven’s hand, “we’re drinking straight from the bottle.” Steven smiles at him, nods, and pulls away slightly, beginning to pick at the gold wrapping around the top of the bottle. He registers Andrew saying his name, and he offers a “Yeah” as confirmation that he can hear Andrew, despite being focused on the gold flaking off in little bits as he tries to tear into it. Nothing doing. “Sorry, um…” He holds the bottle sheepishly up to Andrew. “DO you know how to get this gold stuff off?”

“Oh my god…” Andrew rolls his eyes before reaching over, fingers brushing against Steven’s as he manages a rip into the gold foil. “There you go.”

“Thanks,” Steven says, tearing it the rest of the way and crumpling the gold up into a ball, little metal jags poking into his palm as he does.

“Steven?” Andrew asks.

“Yeah?” Steven says, now examining the top to further figure out how one opens a bottle of champagne.

“Before we both leave…before you go back…well…not home, it’s not your home anymore, not after tomorrow, but…” Steven half-listens to Andrew as he spots a twisty thing that appears to be the trick to further opening the champagne. He pulls at the twisty thing. It pops off. Great. He places it on the desk. “Do you want to take a walk around the city? Maybe get some ice cream? One last goodbye?” Brute force. That should do it. He just twists at the top of the bottle itself. “Steven are you all right?”

“I’m fine, I’m just…” Steven grunts a little from the exertion, palms stinging. “…trying to open this champagne.” If he keeps this up, he’s going to cut his hands open. He gestures at the desk with the bottle. “See, the twisty thing broke, but don’t worry. I’m gonna open this champagne.”

“Let me see it,” Andrew says, reaching for the bottle, but Steven shrugs away.

“No, I got it.”

“Steven,” Andrew says sternly as he reaches for the bottle again, successfully retrieving it and setting it next to the broken twisty thing. “Forget the champagne.”

“No! You went to all that trouble, spent all that money and—”

“And it’s gonna be okay,” Andrew says, his hands settling over Steven’s to still him.

“I’m sorry, it’s…” Steven lifts his hands out of Andrew’s light grasp and rubs his eyes. “It’s been a long day.” It has. Goodbyes are exhausting. And he’s a happy person, but…forced happiness is a different thing.

“…you oughta stay.” It’s sudden…seems almost unbidden coming from Andrew, but ti hangs in the air.

Steven blinks, looking up at Andrew, as if he’d imagined those words.

“What?” There’s something in Andrew’s eyes that he can’t read, but there’s also Andrew’s…not bashful, not forced, but still uneasy smile.

“I mean…there’s no one here who could take your place in ‘Worth It’,” Andrew says with a shrug. It’s casual. Too casual for what he’s suggesting.

“…ha ha, very funny,” Steven says, and if he were to follow that up with anything, Andrew beats him to the punch.

“It’s not like ‘Lifestyle’ where you can just switch people in and out, no…no one can replace YOU.”

“Not like ‘Lifestyl—’ what are you talking about?” He’s so confused as to where this is coming from. And why it didn’t come up sooner, if Andrew was so worried about the show.

“I’m just saying,” Andrew cuts off any other questions (so many other questions) that Steven has, “I think your vacation can wait.”

“Vacation?” If Steven sounds insulted, honestly, he is. It’s not a vacation, and Andrew knows it. Besides… “Andrew, YOU’RE leaving, too!”

“I’m just moving to a different part of the city, you can take the highway—”

“What are you trying to say?” Steven asks.

“You’re moving across the damn country,” Andrew points blindly, as though in the direction of New York, finger and voice shaking, “and we’re never going to see you again—”

“Andrew, what are you trying to SAY?” Steven repeats, but Andrew doesn’t seem to hear him despite getting closer, he’s too far into his “justifications” as to why Steven shouldn’t move.

“—and it’s not FAIR to do this to me and Adam, you start this amazing show and then off you go, just LEAVING it, leaving me—”

“ANDREW, I don’t know why you’re mad at me!” Steven manages over Andrew, reaching for Andrew’s hands, his wrists, to try and still him, but Andrew stepping just out of reach.

“I wish I was mad.”

Honestly, Steven does, too. Because he’s never heard Andrew’s voice break like that. He’s never heard Andrew sound so helpless and desperate and…overwhelmed with emotion that he’s trembling.

Andrew tries to brush past him, but Steven takes him by the arms and holds him back, trying to find the words to ask Andrew please, what did I do, how can I fix this, how can I help you. Andrew looks up at him, away, as though for help. Steven waits.

And before he can blink, his face is in Andrew’s hands. Before he can speak, Andrew presses close and covers his words and mouth with his.

Instinctively, Steven’s hands go to Andrew’s waist as Andrew’s fingers card into his hair, and something inside Steven…pops…like a cork. Something he’s never fully known bubbles up to the surface at the feeling of Andrew’s lips on his…

…but before he can respond in earnest, not in instinct…before he can pull Andrew closer…Andrew is pulling away, fingers brushing under Steven’s eyes, as though sweeping away tears that aren’t there, before they fall limply to his sides. He steps away, his waist slipping from Steven’s grip.

“I’m just too late.” His voice is hoarse…from the kiss…from the tears Steven knows he’s trying to hide…maybe both…

Andrew is walking away before Steven can say anything. Steven doesn’t stop him. Is too late to stop him. Everything just feels…fizzy.

He stares at the bottle of cold champagne. Watches the beads of condensation drip from the neck down, like tears.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback welcome and appreciated.


End file.
